


Loose Threads

by kibasniper



Series: Femslash February 2021 [3]
Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Anxiety, Ballet, Control, Deception, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2021, Performance Art, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Protectiveness, Talent Shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Homura insists it was her imagination. There was no strange creature during her practice recital. Their friends agree with Homura, but Madoka knows what she saw and the emotions it stirred.
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka
Series: Femslash February 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134674
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Loose Threads

**Author's Note:**

> femslash february 2021 prompt 3: buttercup.
> 
> i loved the concept movie for madoka and used it as my primary source of inspiration for this fic!!

Madoka’s hair was held tight in a bun atop her head. She felt a slight pull in the back of her head where the longer strands had been neatly brushed and braided into a thick knot. Not a single strand was out of place, and it was all thanks to her mother’s hairspray, the bottle now sitting in the trash can next to her.

She gazed at her reflection in her hand mirror. Her cheeks were powdered a soft pink to match her hair. Bubblegum pink gloss brightened her lips. Her eyebrows had been plucked, and baby blue eyeshadow had been dabbed along her eyelids. A spritz of strawberry perfume had been applied just below her jaw, the scent mingling with the roses resting in a vase by the mirror.

Her gaze lowered. An off-white leotard with feathery frills jutting from her hips clung to her body. She couldn’t locate a single wrinkle. It had been steam-pressed to perfection. When she dipped her head, her chin was tickled by a choker, which seemed to squeeze her neck the longer she kept her head down. Lace ribbons decorated her sleeves, the long, ruby red fabric waving with each flick of her wrist.

But her slippers felt off. They suffocated her soles and curled her toes inwards. She grimaced, knowing they had just fit yesterday. She had donned her costume without a single flaw the other night for practice, but now that the yearly talent show creeped up on her, her feet jittered, pins and needles digging into them.

Madoka sucked in a breath, but her heart hammered. Her lungs expanded with cold air slithering through her blood. She felt submerged in icy water, flailing, unable to escape.

And for what? She didn’t know. It suddenly came over her when she slipped the last barrette into place. When she examined her features, she spotted faintly purple blots underneath her eyes. No mask or cream could cover such blemishes when they remained externally as well as internally. Something was devouring her circadian rhythm until exhaustion forced her to slumber, and even then, her restless dreams peeled her eyelids apart.

Sayaka had noticed it first. A week ago, she had asked Madoka if she was having trouble sleeping. Homura was by her side, of course. Since Homura transferred to their school, Madoka couldn’t remember a time when Homura wasn’t close to her. Before Madoka had the opportunity to answer, Homura chimed in that it must have been nerves about the talent show. Madoka had acquiesced when Homura’s grin tightened in a way which made shivers race down her spine and later worsened her nights.

She looked over her shoulder. Homura sat on a wooden stool in their back room and watched, her. Their eyes met, and Madoka’s smile framed itself on her face.

“How do I look?” she asked, folding her hands on her lap.

“Spectacular. I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Homura said, standing. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she approached. She glanced at the mirror, arms wrapping behind her back. “You’re on in five. Do you need me to escort you to the stage?”

She chuckled. “I promise I won’t trip on my ribbons like last time.” Madoka’s grin faltered when Homura cocked her head. “Really, I won’t. I was caught off guard by that, um, that…” She pinched her fingers into her palms, the pearl polish on her nails chipping. “What was that thing? It looked like a cat.”

Swiftly, before she could mull over it, Homura crouched next to Madoka and gripped her shoulder. She squeezed gently, her brows furrowing. “I told you, Madoka. You imagined that thing, and you fell. No one else saw what you supposedly saw. That means it was a trick your mind played on you.”

“Right. It was only my nerves,” Madoka replied, practiced and assured. “Thank you, Homura-chan.”

Homura smiled and straightened her back. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and made her way to the door. Over her shoulder, she called, “I’ll be in the front row with Sayaka and Hitomi. Focus on us, and you won’t imagine any fantasy creatures.”

The humor in Homura’s voice elicited a snicker from the back of Madoka’s throat. “I’m sure I won’t. See you in a few minutes.”

Homura nodded and wished her good luck. She pressed her side into the doorframe on her way out. Her eyes sparked with something dangerous, like gasoline ready to be lit.

“Is something wrong, Homura-chan?” Madoka wondered, ready to stand when Homura quickly shook her head.

“No, no, it’s my own nerves. I only want you to be the best you can be, Madoka.” She pointed at Madoka’s ribbons. “Make sure you don’t catch on those again. We don’t want you breaking your ankle this time.”

“I won’t. No need to be that big of a worrywart,” she teased, giggling.

Madoka waited until Homura shut the door behind her for her lips to crease into a frown. She sighed and dragged her down her cheek, her skin sagging. Closing her eyes, she heaved out a sigh, her follicles on fire, the temptation to let her hair fall down her back closing in on her.

But she pushed those feelings away. She ignored the tingling in her feet, chest, and head. She rolled her shoulders back and fixed her posture. Taking the mirror, Madoka saw herself. Long locks of hair cascaded down her back, her dress white as snow, and eyes glimmering gold.

When she blinked, her visage was normal. Setting the mirror on the table, Madoka breathed in deeply, closed her eyes, and waited for her time to perform.

\---

_Damn you, Kyubey._

Homura clenched her fists as she returned to the school’s auditorium. Students filled every seat, chattering and gossiping. She marched to the front row, spotting a hand waving at her. She hurried over, nodding at Hitomi and Sayaka, the latter removing her jacket from the seat next to her for her to sit.

“I’m glad you were able to see her. Is she okay?” Hitomi asked, fiddling with her collar.

“Yeah, they wouldn’t let us anywhere near the back rooms after you. Those crummy teachers said we weren’t talent, so we couldn’t go,” Sayaka grumbled and took a swig of her drink. Sighing, she snorted, “Did you promise you’d clean all their whiteboards if you saw her?”

“I have my persuasive ways, but Madoka is fine. She only needed a little encouragement,” Homura replied, Hitomi sighing in relief. “How were the other acts?”

“To be honest, we couldn’t really concentrate on them. We were too focused on Madoka,” Sayaka said. She tapped her bottle against her knee. “She was just so freaked out. I’ve never seen her that bewildered before.”

Hitomi gasped. “DId she mention that peculiar creature again? I hope she realizes nothing like that could exist.”

Homura hardened her voice. “That’s right. Something like that doesn’t exist.” She breathed out a sigh, Sayaka arching an eyebrow at her. “After all, what kind of cat can also look like a rabbit?”

“Exactly! Definitely something she imagined.” Sayaka wiggled her fingers and chuckled. “Unless we’re all really living in a simulation about to collapse with our colorful bunny-cat alien overlords finally making their move to enslave humanity!”

“Mi-Miki-san!” Hitomi broke off in a fit of giggles. “That’s ridiculous!”

Sayaka elbowed her, smirking. “I could be right. You can’t prove me wrong.”

Homura offered a polite chuckle as the girls laughed. She was glad Sayaka still retained her sense of humor. Madoka would have missed her jokes, and Homura was terrible at creating a jocular mood.

Soft purple light filtered down from the ceiling. Homura snapped her attention to the front. The speakers began playing a melody, one which she had memorized. She tapped along her armrest, hitting the invisible piano keys as they rebounded in the silent auditorium.

The thick, velvet curtains parted. In the center of the stage, Madoka took the pointe position. Homura held her breath, Sayaka and Hitomi gasping next to her. Madoka surveyed the crowd before her gaze fell on the trio. Lacing her fingers together, she nodded at Homura, smiled, and began.

Her poise was elegance personified. She spun and twirled, leaped and skipped to the beat of the piano. She swayed her whole body, wrapping her arms around herself. Pivoting, twisting, throwing her arms behind her as she extended her leg to the side, staying still for as long as the note was held.

She kept her eyes shut for the performance. Her body saw for her. Her feet moved along the floorboards with pinpoint precision. Her hands caressed the air around her. Her fingers curled inwards, mimicking an archer gripping a bow, and Homura’s heart squeezed. She crouched low and fired when the tempo quickened, the lights suddenly brightening and blinding them all for a brief second.

Pirouetting, Madoka opened her eyes. Bright, golden irises leered at Homura. She spun in place, going lower and lower. All of her weight was on her toes, the momentum seemingly endless. As Sayaka and Hitomi marveled, the piano reaching a sudden cacophony of sound and fury, Homura set her thumb to her middle finger, ready to snap.

But then, Madoka tore her barrettes out her hair. She thrust her fingers through her scalp. The audience gasped, watching as she fell to her knees. Madoka clasped her hands above her head as if pleading to a higher power. She finally opened her eyes, her hair spilling down her shoulders, catching her breath, the music coming to an abrupt end.

Madoka’s soft pink eyes blinked at everyone. She skipped to the front of the stage and bowed. The lights returned to normal and signified the end.

Thunderous applause filled the auditorium. Students jumped to their feet, cheering. Sayaka and Hitomi clapped the loudest, their voices drowning out the bellowing from their classmates. 

Tears spilled down Homura’s cheeks. She mimed imperceptible words on her lips. Her hands came together and clapped, an uneven beat among the drumming, rousing applause. 

Homura sucked in a sharp breath and squared her shoulders. She returned Madoka’s smile and closed her eyes. Madoka truly was a diety even without her memories. Although Homura had severed a sliver of her soul, the innocent half whom she needed to protect from evil, Madoka uncovered ways to defy her expectations.

And she loved her for it. The game between a god and a devil was more interesting if the goddess bent the established rules set by the devil. All without realizing it, by sensation alone, Madoka pulled the gambit in her favor just for today.

Madoka jumped off stage and stumbled forward. She yelped, tripping over her ribbons. Homura snatched her hands and steadied her. Madoka laughed, her honeyed tone music to everyone’s ears.

“You were lovely up there, but what did I say about the ribbons?” Homura asked, clipping her hair behind her ear.

“I guess I tripped away. Whoops.” Madoka stuck out her tongue and chuckled. She unwrapped her ribbons and tied them around her hair in two loose pigtails. Flipping the ribbons over her shoulders, she gasped. “Oh, I did what Homura-chan does with her hair.”

“You sure did, but enough about that! You were awesome!” Sayaka gushed, wrapping her arm around Madoka’s shoulder.

Hitomi bobbed her head in agreement. “I’m amazed at how well you can balance yourself. Can you teach me?”

Madoka beamed. “Yes, absolutely.”

Homura and Madoka gazed at each other, allowing Sayaka and Hitomi to discuss what they wanted to learn from her ballet lessons. Madoka reached for Homura’s hand, and Homura accepted her. Homura grazed her thumb over Madoka’s knuckles, massaging stray, beady scabs from when she had last fallen.

“Thank you for your encouragement back there, Homura-chan. Hey, do you think I look nice with my hair down?”

“Of course, but I think pulling your hair up suits you, too.”


End file.
